Intensity In Ten Cities
by vanilluxe
Summary: They both went to Hoenn to escape old ghosts and ended up with much bigger problems. Silver/Kris Redemptionshipping ;; Crystal!gameverse
1. chapter i: rustboro city

**Title: **intensity in ten cities (1/10)  
**Author: **meadowplate  
**Themes: **#8. legato (slipping away) #26. under your skin (30_angsts)  
**Fandom: **Pokémon  
**Pairing: **Silver/Kris (Crystal gameverse)  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Pokémon! Please don't sue me.  
**Summary: **They both went to Hoenn to escape old ghosts; they both realized just how fake their problems really were.  
**Author's Notes: **I worry that I leaked some of Paul's personality into Silver even though he received ~*character development*~ at the end of Crystal. *le sigh* They're pretty much carbon copies of each other, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem.

* * *

"_trembling at the thought of feeling  
__wide awake and keeping distance.  
__nothing seems to penetrate her.  
__she's scared as hell.  
__i am frightened too.  
__wide awake and keeping distance from my soul  
__i am scared like you."_

-cold and ugly ;; tool

* * *

**i. rustboro city**

She could compare his absence to having a breath of fresh air after being underwater for a second too long.

Throughout Johto and Kanto, they had grown together; she has no trouble admitting this. He pulled her out of the clouds and forced her to realize that there's much more to see on the ground than anywhere in the sky; likewise, she taught him the humble art of being a decent human being. In a way, they know each other better than anyone else.

That, however, doesn't testify to the fact that she wants nothing to do with him anymore. She doesn't know where he is, doesn't know what he's doing – and frankly, she has no desire to find out.

Rustboro certainly makes an overwhelming first impression on her when she first arrives, but she could attribute that to the fact that she is absolutely exhausted and looking at this entire Hoenn deal with crooked rose-colored glasses that she had stowed away shortly after taking on Kanto.

She waited an entire year to come here, just to make sure that he gave up any potential plans of following her and continuing to be a thorn in her side. It was fun and all when they were ten, but it gets annoying at thirteen.

Shuffling through the streets, occasionally stopping someone to ask for directions _(damn her for not getting a map earlier), _she almost cries tears of joy when she finally finds the Pokémon Center. She doesn't wait a moment before rushing in –

- and any hope she has is promptly crushed when she hears the very voice that is supposed to be gone from her life.

"I was wondering when you'd finally get here. Always a step behind, as usual."

She turns her head slightly to see _him_ and she can already feel her blood boiling. No, this isn't supposed to happen, she just wants him to _go away_—

"How strange that _you_ would say that," she says bitterly, planting her hands on her hips. "I seem to remember being the one who beat you all the time."

He smirks and takes a step towards her, and she suddenly feels small _(much too small for someone like her)_; he's taller now, and she can feel an inexplicable blush blooming on her face.

"I hate to say it, stupid girl, but we're on equal ground now," he tells her, voice condescending and oh Arceus, one punch across the face is all she wants.

"That's great, and I'm glad that you're so very humble, but the last thing I want right now is to deal with you."

"What, you're not happy to see me again? I'm heartbroken."

She raises her eyebrows; she can't help but be skeptical of his sarcasm when he was once so straightforward in his arrogance. She still can't quite grasp the concept that he is here, right before her eyes, almost exactly three years after he dashed off with a Pokemon from Professor Elm's lab.

Any outsider looking in would laugh and mutter something stupid about oh, young love, as if they remember what being young felt like – as if they know what fleeting thoughts pass through her mind.

She sighs and rubs the bridge of her nose. "Why are you here?"

"I figured it would be obvious, but I guess I shouldn't have set my expectations so high for you," he says, his voice suddenly harsher. "I'm going to take on the Ever Grande League. What else would I be here for, stupid girl?"

The sudden change in his attitude has her scowling. "What's your problem?"

Her glares at her for a moment before pushing past her.

"I liked you better when you were a pushover," he tells her icily, and there's no going back. The hatred has been established, and maybe she shouldn't care as much as she actually does.

The prince and princess are at odds once again.

* * *

She doesn't sleep that night.

She's doing everything right; lying down, head against the pillow, steady breathing, eyes closed – but nothing comes. Not a single sliver of drowsiness. Not the tiniest bit of peace passes through her mind.

Everything is at a standstill, but that's somewhat of a relief, considering the fact that the accused is merely two rooms away from her. She's almost afraid that the next time they're in close proximity, the universe will collapse into itself from the paradox they create.

When did the blithe, cheerful trainer turn into the shadow of a champion? When was bitterness injected into her veins and pumped through her body? She's tempted to call this an overnight transformation, but things simply don't happen. It's cause and effect, and when there is a y but no x, it's natural to be frustrated.

—_It's natural to be afraid._

* * *

"You must be Kris! It's a pleasure to meet you; my name is Roxanne."

Rustboro's gym leader is much warmer than Falkner and Brock had been, and she's ambivalent regarding its benefit; a jagged beginning would be a healthy dose of tough love – but then, the very last thing she needs is tough love.

She mindlessly extends a hand to shake Roxanne's, telling her, "Same here. Let me guess, you're a Rock-type trainer too?"

The gym itself is erring on the side of caution by taking a minimalist approach; few trainers are in sight and the walls are pale yellow, almost hurting her eyes. She's begun to wonder if these places are purposely built to insult interior design.

The brunette nods her head, shaking her hand and stepping back. "Indeed I am. You've done your homework on Hoenn, I see." She pauses for a moment and a look of uncertainty passes over her features. "I feel honored to have the chance to battle with an interregional champion."

She understands; she seems to intimidate people by existing.

"Well, let's get this show on the road, shall we?"

And there is no happiness. The fire, the _thrill_ has been eliminated.

Simply because she is good at what she does.

* * *

The first key to being happy is to force happiness out of nothing. A seed grows in the dirt, after all.

She refuses to blame herself as she examines the Stone Badge, bowing and thanking Roxanne for her time, it really was a pleasure.

There's a certain amount of self-awareness that she possesses but conveniently sweeps under the rug when the time is supposedly right. She prides herself on knowing exactly _when_ the time is right, but she just can't be sure now. So she offers her appreciation, turns on her heel, and leaves the gym, debating on a course of action. She wants nothing more than to leave and find a way to somehow reach Dewford before dusk arrives.

(Some joke right there, anyway.)

Something is keeping her here; she can't say with any degree of certainty what it is, but it's almost as though she'll be pushed right back in if she tries to depart. An invisible wall, a force field—

She swallows and fights back tears, because she knows.

She knows, but she will never understand.

Memories come back to her in a sudden, unforgiving flood and she's reminded of why she doesn't take many trips down Memory Lane anymore. Things were so simple; the playing field was uneven. She had the slight of hand because she wasn't a depraved boy like him. She was just a girl.

And deep within her, that little girl is trapped in a casing of acrimony and dead promises. Deep within her, she knows that she's just as cruel as he is.

It's three in the afternoon, and she has a brush with an epiphany, barely making it out alive.

**ii.**

He did like her better when she was a pushover because they're the same now, and he doesn't think he could deal with a person like him. No, that isn't right _(he's dealt with others of his kind before)_ – he doesn't think he could deal with _her_ becoming like _him_.

It's (almost) laughable, (almost) inevitable. Adolescence is the time when innocence frosts over and morphs into something that isn't quite maturity, but nowhere near the childish folly of years gone by.

All teenagers want something called love. Silver was presented with this fact by the quirkiest woman he ever had the (mis)fortune of meeting; her mother.

'_Ah, you're a friend of Kris's, right?—' (no use in correcting her) '—Hey, why don't you sit down?'_

(A simple invitation gone awry.)

'_I worry about her sometimes. But I suppose that's what all teenagers go through. I hope she finds a nice boy someday on her journey. Hm? What's that? Well, she's a bit of an attention seeker, but all she really wants is love without the side effects. I think that's what all teenagers want – love without complications. It's kind of sad that it doesn't exist.'_

He didn't understand it when she initially put it out there – how _anyone_ could understand her at any age is beyond him – but he's gradually seeing what she meant by that.

He's left wondering who the hell came here to escape their ghosts first; him or her, it probably doesn't even matter at this point because they both know that this is truly boredom at its finest.

She's leaving the gym when he sees her, and he can't say if she's going to stay here or leave the first opportunity she gets. It had a tendency of varying when they were—

He immediately purges his mind of any recollections about their stupid ten-year-old selves in Johto.

She glances, sees him and raises an eyebrow. Rightfully so.

He sees her and doesn't do anything. Rightfully so.

He can imagine what their conversation would be.

'_Go home.'_

'_Screw you, it's not like anyone's waiting for me—'_

It's sad how their lines are interchangeable. Depressing sad, pathetic sad, when her real self would say something like, _'What makes you think I'd go home _now_ of all times?'_ She wouldn't say that no one is waiting for her, because someone is.

Just not the person she wants.

* * *

He sees her leaving Rustboro and he feels…nothing. Not even pity.

Especially not pity.

She might need the same faith placed in her that she placed in him when they hardly understood the very concept of inner betterment.

But he won't be able to give it to her. She can fight her own battles this time.


	2. chapter ii: dewford town

**Title: **intensity in ten cities (2/10)  
**Author: **meadowplate  
**Themes: **#3. canon (twisted imitation), #17. engulf by darkness (30_angsts)  
**Fandom: **Pokémon  
**Pairing: **Silver/Kris (Redemptionshipping)  
**Disclaimer: **I own nothing! Please don't sue me.  
**Summary: **They both went to Hoenn to escape old ghosts and ended up with much bigger problems. Crystal!gameverse  
**Author's Notes: **Thank you for the reviews, everyone! And thank you to the shy/silent/can't be bothered readers. I supposedly finished this chapter last week, but after setting it aside for a couple days and reading it over, I realized that the ending was godawful and that I forgot to actually initiate the plot. :I

* * *

"_chorus romance says goodnight  
__close your eyes and i'll close mine.  
__remember you, remember me  
__hurt the first, the last, between."  
_-so i thought ;; flyleaf

* * *

—**chapter ii  
****dewford town**

The trek from Rustboro to Dewford is hopefully not an indicator of how things might turn out to be for the duration of this journey.

Her eyes sparkle when she steps off the boat and sees the beach before her, the waves gently rolling along the shoreline. It's been so long since she's been anywhere near the ocean that she feels like a child again when she kicks off her shoes and lets her feet sink into the cool, smooth sand. She takes her jacket off and sits down, watching the sun set in front of her; the warm oranges and pinks spill over into the water, sparkling in the fading light.

For a moment, she feels no obligation to be Kris the champion – she can simply be Kris the girl.

Few others are on the beach, which could be explained by the vicious storms that ravaged Hoenn for the past two days, leaving the air humid and the sand moist. She supposes that they're undesirable conditions for the locals; they have the luxury of being selective about their ideal weather conditions for beach-going.

She lies down, not particularly caring if the sand sticks to her. For the most fleeting of moments, she is innocent again.

* * *

She's forced to dash to the Pokémon Center when she hears thunder, and by the time she reaches safety, she's soaked to the bone.

Nurse Joy eyes her with pity, shaking her head as she hands her the key to her room.

"There have been awful storms here lately," she says, leaning over the counter. "We get bad rain and winds from time to time, but nothing like this."

"You don't say," Kris murmurs; she's in no mood to stick around and chat, which seems to be what this woman wants her to do.

Joy nods. "They say that it might have something to do with Team Aqua and Kyogre. They're a group of nutcases, but they're not stupid. If they were to awaken Kyogre or Groudon – or, Arceus forbid, Rayquaza – then we're going to need a miracle."

She can't explain it, but something strange resonates within her at the possibility of 'grave danger'; any craving for adventure that she possessed atrophied a long time ago. She hardly noticed when such a transformation took place, if only because it was a gradual process.

She tells herself that there's a difference between a desire for adventure and a desire for escape.

"Yeah, I guess we are," she says emotionlessly, walking towards the stairs. She can no longer be the miracle worker she once was; her first mission would have been to fix herself, and she clearly isn't capable of that.

* * *

She instinctively buries herself deeper within the blankets when she hears the crack of thunder _(oh no no no, she'll cry if there's more lightning)_, wondering when she became such a coward. She once scoffed in the face of something as pathetic as lightning, and now she's shaking in fear of it.

It suddenly occurs to her that _he _didn't make an appearance today; it's a small comfort, and she smiles at the thought of him getting lost _(something he most certainly would not allow; if anyone's going to get lost, it's her). _The smile fades when her thoughts drift to his words—

"_I liked you better when you were a pushover."_

—and she takes the pillow and shoves it over her head, feebly attempting to drive him out of her head. She hates how he invades her mind when she least expects it, when he's not welcome (then again, he's _never_ welcome in her thoughts). He would laugh in that cold-hearted way that is exclusively his and accuse her of being infatuated with him – it would be an insult with the complete intent of humiliating her. Why does he do that? Who gets sick enjoyment out of making other people feel so horrible? Scratch that; he seems to only do this to _her_.

"Stop, stop," she says to herself, considering the fact that this train of thought is about to crash. She throws the sheets off and gets up, pacing the room as rain pounds violently against the window. With any luck, she'll be able to leave Dewford by the next day, giving her at least three days' advantage over him –

_Why? Why do I avoid him so much?_

The thought is sudden and makes her stop dead in the middle of her nervous pacing. It's a stupid question that she isn't under any obligation to answer, but something presses her to submit one, if only to quell her uneasy subconscious.

_I…I guess it's a comfort thing. If he's around, I don't…I don't have to worry about myself, _she thinks, frowning at the dated revelation that she refused to confront for the longest time.

Her crooked rose-colored glasses are now completely broken.

* * *

She seriously considers sleeping the day away after getting abysmal amounts of sleep, but bouts with nights of restlessness have never stopped her before. Getting up and peering out the window, she sees that the storm has subsided; the only evidence it has left behind is a splintered tree on the beach.

She takes this moment to observe just how small this town truly is; houses are lined up against one narrow street, with the cul-de-sac being the center of activity (or so it seems). There's a certain eeriness to the peacefulness here; it would never bother her normally, but this specific silence is almost ominous. Eyebrows furrowing, she absentmindedly brushes her hair before her thoughts drift towards her gym battle, occupying herself with the awkward banality of an everyday life that she seems to have misplaced.

Her eyes sting with exhaustion and her hands are slipping as she tries to get her hair into pigtails.

_Whatever, I'll just fix it when I get onto the ferry later, _she thinks to herself, letting her hair fall down to the middle of her back; it's been so long that she's allowed her azure hair to go free like this in broad daylight that she almost feels like she's a little girl again, before the times when she could be bothered with such trivial things as looks.

When she deems herself fit for venturing into the outside world, she bounds down the staircase and out of the Pokémon Center, squinting from the sunshine. She takes a tentative look around, noticing that the gym is to the east, before heading out onto the beach in front of her. If there's going to be miles ahead of her, she might as well make the trip somewhat bearable.

She takes her shoes off and lets them hang limply from the tips of her fingers; her eyes are focused on the ocean, whose waves are unforgiving after last night's storm. The beach is almost completely empty, save for a few fishermen who likely have nothing else to do. Her hair flutters in the wind, and she feels content for a few minutes, until—

_(it's inevitable, why didn't she predict this?)_

—she makes the mistake of turning her head to look at the main road, and she sees _him_. Staring at _her_.

She can't read his expression – it's some hybrid of fascinated and irritated _(why is she not surprised by the latter?)_ – but her breath hitches in her throat and she turns away, feeling awkward and confused and _dirty_. Thankfully, her composure – no, her façade – does not falter, and not a sliver of emotion is detectable on her face.

(And she will forever ignore the fact that there is a part of her that hopes and knows that he will follow her to the ends of the earth.)

**ii.**

He swears that his eyes are deceiving him when he sees her staring into space on the shoreline – he can't remember ever seeing her without her signature pigtails.

He had honestly been expecting her to have already left, but knowing her, she probably stopped to smell the roses yesterday. Any sense of time is lost on her and she doesn't possess any burning desire to constantly press forward.

Shit, she really is rubbing off on him.

But he can't deny it; the way she was wasting time, simply _being_ – the last time he had seen her so happy had been years before. For what felt like a fleeting moment, she had reverted back into her old self, and that had provided him with a (false) sense of security.

Now, though, he's watching her walk away, chewing on her lip and no doubt pissed beyond all comprehension. He folds his arms across his chest and scowls; it isn't his fault that she's so sensitive. He figures that she's on her way to the Gym and curiosity suddenly seizes him _( - it's not like he has anything better to do, anyway)_.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" she whispers harshly, jabbing his chest.

"Are you asking that because you genuinely don't know or are you just desperate to be made fun of?"

Her cheeks flare and she grips her head in frustration. He almost feels sorry for her with the way she gets so upset over the smallest of things.

They're standing outside of the Gym and she's just noticed that he's been following her – _(that really doesn't sound too pleasant, does it?)_. Of course, it didn't take her long to blow up at him and demand that why is he here and why must he constantly be a pain in the ass?

She scowls, irritated, but doesn't say anything; she turns on her heel and saunters into the Gym. She tosses a look at him over her shoulder, giving silent consent to whatever he's planning.

It's been – Arceus, how long has it been since he's seen her battle outside of their own matches? He couldn't be bothered when they were younger, but now that they aren't walking on hot coals, it seems appropriate to at least humor her.

He peers through the glass door, trying to discern her silhouette with little success. It feels a bit strange (a bit awkward) that they don't clash as much as they used to. He could almost say that they were on separate planes of existence when they were younger, and now they're – they're…

They're _equals_. It sounds – no, it _is_ wrong. It really isn't supposed to be this way. He's supposed to be the antagonist in this story, not the anti-hero.

(And what happened to the heroine he remembers from so long ago? That jaded, minor character is unfamiliar to him.)

He finally enters while the leader – _(Bradley? Brawly?) _– is reciting rules that are second nature by now. Hands in pockets, he takes a seat on the bench and hazards a look at her. She's rolling her eyes and tapping her foot, undoubtedly wanting to get this done and over with. She turns her head in his direction and her gaze hardens. She doesn't give any indication of discomfort, doesn't back down or tremble. At least she still possesses that trait.

"You ready, girlie?" the leader asks, cracking his knuckles.

"As ready as I'll ever be." She gives him a fake, lopsided smile.

The sudden desire to scream at her washes over him; he wants to ask her what the hell is wrong and why she insists on being this way when there's nothing to be upset about. This can't be passed off as teenage hormones – she's sunk too far and she's almost at rock bottom.

The anger is quietly tucked away for the time being as he watches her send out her Typhlosion, understandably starting with the Pokemon that is likely to plow through its opponents. She hasn't lost her confidence, but there isn't any excitement or enjoyment in her features. _(Since when did this become a job?_)

Her eyes occasionally dart over to him; he doesn't give her a (visible) reaction, and he doesn't intend to. There's an almost sadistic pleasure in seeing her so unsettled by his presence, and despite his sinister intentions, he doesn't feel the least bit guilty. She is supposedly adamant in wanting him to stay away from her – it's just not like her to lie, so he'll _kindly_ take it upon himself to find out what is going on in that indecipherable mind of hers.

(Ulterior motives are his forte, after all.)

He's hardly paying attention to what's going on in front of him – _lost in his own thoughts, vaguely aware that she's hardly breaking a sweat_ – when he realizes that the battle is over. He stands up and stares intently at her, waiting for her to turn her head and fully notice him in lieu of nervous looks out of the corner of her eyes.

She's busy conversing with the leader, however, and he quietly resigns himself to the fact that she isn't going to be leaving any time soon –

_(he needs to leave this place, anyway)._

He shoves his hands in his pockets and begins walking towards the door, catching a snippet of their conversation on the way out.

"That your boyfriend?"

"What? Oh, no – he's just some guy."

* * *

The afternoon is uneventful; he bides his time until the evening morphs into the depths of night, and he's in his room when he hears a door click open.

Gently pushing the door open enough to allow him to see who it is, he doesn't waste time when he spots that unmistakable spiky blue hair and walks out of the room, startling her.

"Silver?" she asks quietly, pausing in the middle of the hallway.

"So I'm 'just some guy'?" His voice is hoarse and cold, and he turns to face her, glare unwavering.

She recoils and takes an instinctive step backward. "Well, you aren't anything else, are you?"

He takes a step forward. "I don't know. Why don't _you_ tell me?"

Her lips twist into a scowl and she folds her arms across her chest, avoiding his eyes. She says nothing for a minute, before an inaudible whisper escapes her lips.

"What?"

"Why do you follow me?"

Honestly, he should have expected that question to be asked, but it still makes him falter – it requires multiple answers, and even he doesn't have them all. He can easily point to his initial purpose for pursuing her, but he knows – she knows – that said purpose has been long abandoned.

"Who said I was following you?"

"Are you stupid? You're everywhere I go! I mean, what's your excuse for staring at me this morning? You can't really pass that off as coincidence."

And, of course, this is what he gets for taking her for a fool.

He doesn't (can't) say anything for a moment and the silence is suffocating, but she turns her head to look at him, expression softening.

"Keep trying," she says quietly, turning on her heel and retreating to her room.

He looks at the place where she stood before shaking his head and walking away. His hand hovers above the doorknob, and his eyes narrow. There is no hope, no chance for salvation, no opportunity to bridge the gap – she is so far ahead, and he is just a vague thought to her.

He is a twisted imitation of someone completely different from him, and he can see why she hates him.

**iii.**

She wakes up in the middle of the night, sweat trickling down the side of her face.

Inhaling sharply, she throws the sheets off of her and leaps out of the bed. Her palms are moist and her hands are shaking – she can't recall what exactly caused this reaction – and she closes her eyes, trying to conjure an image, a remnant of the nightmare that induced such profound fear.

"_You hypocrite. You think you can lecture me then turn around and act like this?"_

"_Better a hypocrite than a liar."_

It isn't the stuff of nightmares, but it's enough to cause her grief –

—and who is she kidding? The ugly truth was bound to be said to her in plain words eventually, and the pain is somewhat lessened considering the means of her revelation. She stares at the wall, almost expecting it to say something, and the silence is vaguely comforting. She feels inexplicable sadness when her mind drifts back to him, and a sigh escapes her lips. Why, _why_ did she choose to confront him about the one thing that they mutely agree never to discuss?

Her thoughts are interrupted by someone opening her door – she doesn't see the intruder, but a scream is stifled by what feels like a cloth as it ties something around her head. Her heart is furiously pounding against her ribcage as the offending party lifts her up, and she squeezes her eyes shut (because this can't be happening).

"Come quietly, girl. No one's going to hurt you if you cooperate."

She screams anyway, nothing more than a whimper against the cloth, and she feels something pierce her arm –

everything fades away in a terrifying swirl of movement, and she is vaguely aware of how cliché this all seems.

(Vaguely.)


End file.
